


Cap's (Definitely Not A Cat) Cafe

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Flirting, Bearded Steve Rogers, Cats, Established Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Human Disaster Steve Rogers, M/M, Multi, POV Clint Barton, Small Towns, They're Just Both Idiots It's Fine, Trans Bucky Barnes, cats everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22510924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: A story about attempting (and failing) to get rid of your boyfriend's cat's kittens, and instead ending up with five cats in total and an extra boyfriend on top of that. But to be fair, Clint didn't try very hard.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 69
Kudos: 366





	Cap's (Definitely Not A Cat) Cafe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyishBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/gifts).



> Bobbi, I hope this satisfies you. I saw "like one of those cat cafes" and my brain took me on a journey that lead here. I'm happy with it.

“Clint,” Steve says, very patiently. “Please don’t let the kittens eat the food we have set out for the customers.”

“I’m not,” Clint answers, as he breaks a piece off of a muffin and holds it at counter-height. “That would be unprofessional, and unsanitary, and completely _not_ okay-”

“I can see your hand through the glass,” Steve says wearily when whiskers brush Clint’s fingers. The food is taken delicately and Clint offers a helpless smile to his boyfriend before pulling off another crumb to offer to the second kitten. He forgets, for a second, that this is a risky mission when teeth graze his fingertips.

“What if we started a cat cafe?”

“We already agreed we weren’t going to keep them,” Steve says. “How’s Natasha handling Liho?”

“She sent me a bunch of complaints and then I went to visit and the cat was in her bed, purring like a machine. So _good_ , but you’ll never get her to admit it.”

“That’s Natasha for you,” Steve agrees as he plucks the muffin out of Clint’s hand and puts a small amount of meat into his palm instead. Clint also gets a kiss out of it, so he’s not complaining, and the cats are more than happy to accept his new offering. Steve sits down on the stool they keep by the counter, flattens his hands against his thighs. “Did she ask her friends if they’d take in a cat or two like she promised?”

“Yeah,” Clint replies. “She only got one that seems interested - just moved into town. He works at the same company Nat does and they relocated him here last week.”

Louise the cat makes a disgruntled noise when she realizes there’s no more treats for her and jumps to the ground, heading towards the stairs that lead up to their apartment. A kitten follows her a few seconds later and Clint glances at the door to make sure no one’s approaching before he sits himself in Steve’s lap. Steve curls a hand around his hip and Clint leans into it comfortably, barely even twitches when one of the kittens spring into _his_ lap.

“Are you _sure_ we can’t have a cat cafe,” he tries again, and Steve sighs.

“We’re getting rid of the cats. And that’s that.”

Clint snickers at the unintentional rhyme.

“That’s twelve-fifty.”

“Jeez, you raised prices again? You’re robbing me here, Barton,” Tony says as he slides over a card.

Clint doesn’t feel a speck of remorse as he swipes the card and watches it approve. “You’re literally rich as fuck, Stark, I don’t think paying ten dollars for a couple of ham and brie hand pies is going to kill you. On the other hand, if we can’t afford the rent, we _will_ die, and my blood will be on your hands.”

“Wow. Dramatic much?”

“Steve’s giving away the cats,” Clint confesses.

“Oh,” Tony says.

“Do you-” Clint starts, and there must be some giveaway, some sort of gleam in his eye that serves as a warning, because Tony snatches up his food and the can of Monster as quickly as he can without fumbling it. Clint waves the card with some amusement and Tony leans forward to take it with his teeth, and then Clint can’t talk him into taking a cat because he can’t hold a conversation.

Dammit. “Say hi to Bruce for me.”

“Mmpgh,” comes the muffled reply, and when Tony gets to the door it opens for him like magic.

Well, maybe not magic. It turns out to be someone opening the door for him, to Clint’s subsequent disappointment, and then to his joy instead when he realizes it’s a hot, dark-haired stranger. Clint forgets about Tony immediately in favour of taking in the clinging grey skinny jeans and soft-looking hair that catches flecks of gold in the light.

“Uh. Hi?”

“Hi,” Clint says, feeling his brain unravel a little as the stranger gets closer. Wow, those are some pretty eyes, almost silver in the right light. “What’s a nice place like you doin’- I mean, a place like this doesn’t- _fuck_. Hi, welcome to Cap’s.”

“I _am_ in the right place,” is the relieved reply he gets, as the stranger sits down heavily in a chair. “Wasn’t sure if this was a cafe or a junk shop.”

“Hey,” Clint says defensively. “It’s not junk, it’s art.”

“If you say so. I’m supposed to ask about a cat?”

Oh! Hot Stranger hasn’t just come in to assault Clint’s delicate sensibilities with his ridiculous attractiveness and to insult his and Steve’s interior decor. Clint decides to let him get away with the earlier offence. (If he’s honest, some of this crap is a little over-the-top, but it’s _his_ over-the-top crap.)

“You must be- James, was it? My memory’s shit.”

“Natasha’s the only one that calls me that,” he says. “It’s- most people just call me-”

“Bucky,” Steve says, the word tinged with a little bit of wonder - when did he get here? Clint hadn’t even heard him come in. Bucky jumps as well, so Clint feels less guilty. “You’re back. When did you- ?”

“Got here a couple of days ago,” Bucky returns. “Stayin’ in the motel while work sorts out an apartment for me.”

“Oh,” Steve says. They stare in silence for a few long seconds, long enough that he plays it back and realizes the way they’re talking is too familiar for acquaintances. Clint turns and he’s making a strange expression, although it flicks back to something neutral when he notices Clint watching. Interesting.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Bucky says eventually.

“Yeah,” Steve answers quietly, but there’s a smile on his face. He turns his attention back to Clint. “I’m going to go pick up some more bread. Want me to get those popsicles you like?”

“Please,” Clint says. “Rogers, you’re the love of my life, I ever tell you that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Steve replies, leans in to press his lips to Clint’s cheek. “Get rid of the cats,” he adds.

Bucky’s staring out a window when Clint returns his attention to him, and the bell of the door opening and closing chimes at them. There’s something complicated in his face as well, and Clint feels like he’s accidentally walked out onto a minefield. Nothing good can come from prodding someone he’s just met, though, so he just heads for the back of the cafe.

“How d’you take your coffee?”

“As much sugar and cream as you’re willing to put in it,” Bucky says distractedly.

It takes him a few minutes to locate it all. Most of their regulars have it the same way Clint has it - straight out the pot, black as tar and twice as bitter. It’s something different, at least. Variety’s good, although Clint finds the sugar sitting underneath a hand of bananas. Eventually he gets it together and then he’s picking out a mug to take over to where Bucky’s taking a seat by the big window on the left, the one with the big view of the jacaranda tree.

It’s Clint’s favourite spot. He approves.

Bucky seems to similarly approve of his coffee-making skills. “So.”

“So. Cats.”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “Having humans share my space always seems to go to shit. Figured I’d try an animal instead. Are they a handful?”

“Depends on which one,” Clint answers reasonably. “They range from ‘needs attention ninety percent of the time’ to ‘I will scream like a banshee if you look at me when I don’t want you to.' There’s variety among them, at least.”

“Natasha’s seemed pretty well-behaved,” Bucky replies.

“Liho only got like that once she moved out,” Clint says. “Think it was witchcraft. Natasha has magical powers, I’m pretty sure.”

“Huh,” Bucky says. “How ‘bout that. So you’re Steve’s-?”

“Boyfriend, business partner, professional cuddler,” Clint answers. “I also had a short-lived career as an Instagram model.”

“I can imagine,” is what he _thinks_ Bucky says in reply, but it sounds too much like a compliment to be real. Probably just his ears acting up again. He thinks he's probably imagining the appreciative once-over Bucky gives him too. Even if Clint had tried that jumbled attempt at flirting earlier. A ringing noise jolts him out of his thoughts and he looks over to see Bucky checking his phone.

“Problem?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, standing up. “I gotta go. I’ll come back tomorrow? Actually meet the cats?”

“Sure,” Clint says. “Cafe’s open from ten to eight, but if you need earlier or later, here’s my number.”

Clint’s... oddly disappointed once he’s gone.

He doesn’t think to ask until they’re upstairs, half-heartedly watching a movie. Steve’s got his head in Clint’s lap in an unusual show of tiredness and Clint’s petting at his jaw where there’s a lovely solid amount of beard to rub his fingertips against. He’s too lazy to grow his own, but Steve’s newfound facial hair is a delightful novelty.

“So what’s the story with you and the new guy?”

“Hmm?” Steve turns his head so he can look up at Clint. “Oh. We… grew up together.”

“Cool,” Clint says. “No romance at all, then?”

A frown creases Steve’s face. “I’m not going to-”

“Hey,” Clint says, cups his cheek gently. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I trust you, I’m just curious.”

Steve relaxes a little when Clint doesn’t press, continues petting his face gently. It takes him a few minutes to speak, but he answers the question, which is more than Clint’s expecting. “We were best friends. Inseparable for most of high school, and I was- I don’t know. It was never the right time, you know?”

Clint _doesn’t_ know, but it fails to bother him anyway. “He’s cute. I’m gonna make him tell me embarrassing stories about you.”

“If you do that I’ll just text Kate to ask her what happened in Oregon,” Steve says, and Clint groans. Checkmate. Although it might be worth it, to learn more about the angry-looking young boy in all the old photo albums Sarah used to show him. One of the kittens is burrowing into Steve’s shirt as the other kneads at his thigh, and Steve absently reaches down to scratch under her chin.

She’s trying to purr at him. Clint feels the grin slide onto his face.

“We’re not keeping the cats,” Steve says.

“Wait, wait,” Clint says through his laughter. “So what happened to the teacher he punched?”

“Fired,” Bucky admits. “Not before he gave Steve an earful for getting in his way, though. It was like Scooby Doo, if Scooby Doo was just a pint-sized Fred with an attitude problem.”

“That’s fucking _gold_ ,” Clint gets out. Oh fuck, but it’s funny. Every story he hears about Steve’s childhood is like something out of a ridiculous comedy skit. He loves it. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind indulging him either, which is glorious. Clint hopes he doesn’t have somewhere to be, because he came in here about the cats three hours ago and they haven’t even- crap.

Steve’s going to kill him.

“Right, back to business. You want to meet the kittens?”

“Sure,” Bucky says with amusement, leans forward to brace his elbows on the table. Clint doesn’t comment on the gleam of metal where his jacket ends and his glove begins, just springs to his feet and glances around for a sign of life.

“They like to play hide and seek with me, but- aha!” He scoops up a lump of white that was blending in with the carpet. The kitten barely opens her eyes, doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest because she’s already used to being picked up like a sack of potatoes by her resident human grandpa. “This is Vista.”

Bucky frowns. “Vista?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Like Windows Vista. She’s kind of slow and frustrating to work with. She’s super cuddly, though.”

“Do I _want_ to know what the others are called?”

“Sure,” Clint replies cheerfully, sets Vista on the couch and casts around for the other two. He finds the tabby curled up in the curtains and her white-flecked brother on the windowsill with their mother, and then points to each of them in turn. “Vista. Garbage. Potsticker. And Mama Louise.”

Bucky seems to think that over for a second. “Don't tell me why they're called that. So why do the kittens have stupid names and the mother-”

“Louise Elisabeth Le La-di-da is Steve’s,” Clint supplies. “I mean- she’s my cat too because we live together, but Steve had her before. She’s named after some painter or something, I don’t know.”

“Le Brun. It wouldn’t hurt for you to remember one artist,” Steve says as he leans over the counter. “We think the father’s a stray - she slipped out one morning and then this happened. It’s my fault for not watching her more closely.”

“Local breeders wouldn’t take ‘em in because we’ve got no clue what they are,” Clint adds. It’s a shame - personalities aside, they’re quite beautiful cats.

“Mystery breed or not, they’re good company,” Steve reasons. “Got some free muffins for you and Natasha to share, Buck. Blueberry okay?”

Clint kneels down to let Garbage sniff his fingers as Bucky approaches the counter. He pretends he doesn’t hear the next part of the conversation. This is something he’s on the outside of, something he’s not willing to interfere because he’s probably new and weird to Bucky, and he’s certainly not going to elbow his way into things that aren’t his business.

“An elderly couple came in this morning looking for a girl named Vanessa Barnes,” Steve says in a quiet voice.

“Oh,” Bucky says, voice going flat. “What did you-”

“I told them there’s no one by that name here,” Steve answers. “And then I asked them to leave. There's no girls that come in here besides Natasha, anyway.”

“It’s not exactly the place to pick up chicks,” Bucky agrees after a long pause, but the icy tone in his voice has thawed out. Clint’s not oblivious - he was in the kitchen when the couple came in, and it’s _shocking_ how some people behave, but it’s not his place. There’s an unsaid _thank you_ somewhere in Bucky’s voice, and Clint feels a smile graze his own lips - that’s Steve for you, always the hero.

He can’t say that out loud, though, so he just scratches under Potsticker’s chin and thinks about inviting Bucky to the new action movie showing at the cinema.

Clint never asks if Steve’s still in love with Bucky.

He doesn’t need to. The answer’s pretty obvious from looking at the way they interact with each other. Steve’s awful at hiding his feelings - he may as well have it tattooed on his forehead. It doesn’t bother Clint in the slightest. It might’ve killed him a few years ago when he was at rock bottom, but as it is, he’s secure in the knowledge that Steve isn’t going to leave him.

The real question is what _Bucky_ thinks of all this.

“You and Steve never even-?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “It wouldn’t have worked, when we were kids. Steve was more interested in starting fights and fighting injustice, and I was… I was working out my own shit.”

He’s staring off into the distance when Clint looks over at him, that kind of distant stare that means the owner of it is reliving some heavy shit. He reacts instinctively, doesn’t even think about whether it might be inappropriate to sling himself into Bucky’s lap to hug the hell out of him. They’re plastered together close enough that he can feel Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, feels him tense up like he’s going to escape, and then he just… relaxes.

“Sorry,” Bucky says.

Clint was going to apologize for the sudden lapful of himself, but if Bucky’s okay with it, he can always pretend he was doing it intentionally. “Nothing to be sorry about. We’ve all got baggage ‘round here.”

He doesn’t move for a while and Bucky tips forward, presses his forehead against Clint’s shoulder. Bucky’s warmer than Clint’s expecting. He also does the same thing Steve does with gently catching onto Clint’s hip to make sure he’s secure. Clint wonders if it’s something they did for each other or whether it’s some sort of wild coincidence.

Either way it’s _nice_ , and they stay curled around each other until Bucky gets called away.

They’re supposed to get up and open the cafe, but Clint’s feeling warm and slow and there’s a cat sitting curled against his stomach. Vista, forever his favourite. Steve’s got the other three on him - he hasn’t gotten out of bed either, and he’s going to find it difficult if he wants to anyway. Two of the kittens are tangled together on his chest and Louise is holding down his legs under the sheets.

Steve’s staring up at the ceiling but he’s patting the kittens gently, giving into the way they’re headbutting against his fingers for more attention. It’s a beautiful scene, and Clint can’t find it in himself to worry about the cafe when he gets to watch this.

The problem with this much silence, though, is that it gets filled with _thinking_ instead. Judging from the look on his boyfriend’s face, Steve’s having the same problem.

“I think I’m getting attached to the kittens,” Steve confesses.

“I think I’m getting attached to the Bucky,” Clint says glumly.

They’ve never discussed something like this before - keeping the cats (Steve’s rules) or attempting to date someone else. The silence reigns over them for a while longer. A bird outside their window screams loud enough that one of the cats raise their head to look.

“We could have a cat cafe,” Clint tries again, at the exact moment Steve says, “what do you think about polyamorous relationships?”

A pause.

“...both is good?”

“So what’s the plan? We give him a cat and then ask him out on a date?”

“Is the cat going to help our chances?”

“Sure,” Clint says cheerfully, pointing at Potsticker, who’s looking remarkably cute right now. “Wouldn’t that convince _you_ to put up with the two of us on a more long-term period?”

“...what do we do once we ask him out on a date?”

“You’ve known him longer than I have, I shouldn’t be in charge here! I’m not qualified to romance people, Steve. Shit, I can barely handle romancing _you_ without falling on my face half the time,” Clint exclaims, waving his hands around.

This has the unfortunate side-effect of knocking over the stack of comic pages Steve’s been drafting up to send to a local publisher. Clint swears and drops to his knees to collect them, pausing when he sees a character with a bow and a very familiar collection of neon-coloured bandaids. Huh. How about that.

“Did he pick a favourite cat?”

“I don’t know,” Clint says. “I was too busy staring at his _eyes_ , Steve, fucking hell. Remember when we first met and I walked straight into a door and nearly broke my nose? You’re asking too much of me.”

“I thought you were pretty suave,” Steve replies as he accepts the stack of papers back. This time he sets them out of Clint’s reach, which is probably a smart idea. Clint tucks the sketch of himself into his pocket silently, offers a casual smile when Steve looks up at him.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” Clint says. “I mean, I got the cute boy, _how_ I got him doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so,” Steve replies, the barest hint of mischief in his eyes. “You were an idiot. I’ve never seen anyone eat that much popcorn in one sitting before. It was disgusting. And then you decided to reenact a circus act on the roof.”

“Why did you even date me?”

“I like you,” Steve says. “Despite the idiocy.”

“Romantic,” Clint says dryly, but it is, a little.

The bell dings then and they both look at the door to see Bucky slipping in. Clint _assumes_ it’s Bucky - same height, same jacket, same bedhair styled too artfully to be natural. The confusion over his identity comes from the sea of white fluff covering most of Bucky’s face, wrapped around his neck.

Clint tips his head to the side curiously, while Steve must decide it’s best not to comment. “You here for a cat, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his voice muffled by the fluff. “About that.”

That’s ominous. “What’s up?”

“So I think I found the dad,” Bucky says apologetically, and his scarf lifts its head and blinks at them curiously. The cat makes a grumbling noise at them and then gets to its feet, perched delicately on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s actually quite slim when it’s standing, fine features that suggest it’s not just your average alleycat.

There’s something familiar about the shape of its fur and the angle of its ears though, and Clint scoops up Vista as she plods past and holds her up so he can compare.

“Huh,” he says. There’s too many similarities to be coincidence. “What do you know. Daddy Vista.”

“What are you going to do with him now, Buck?”

Steve has Garbage and Potsticker in his hands as he walks past and dumps them with their mother. Louise meows and then smacks Potsticker with one paw, which seems to get Bucky’s companion’s attention. The tomcat drops to the floor and then pads over to them, nosing at the kittens curiously before he greets Louise.

“I think he’s keeping me,” Bucky says dryly. “Tried to get him to leave and he just followed, all the way to the damn post office and back to the motel. Vet says he isn’t microchipped. Now I’m his personal jungle gym.”

The tomcat makes a noise as if to agree that _yes_ , that’s exactly what Bucky is.

Clint stifles a snort.

“Hmm,” Steve says. “No kittens, then?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky answers, regret tinging his words. “I know you were hoping to get rid of them, but I can barely handle myself, let alone two of these bastards.”

Bucky and Steve don’t look at each other, very purposefully staring off in opposite directions. _Too_ purposefully, because Clint can almost taste the tension vibrating off of them. He should probably do something to diffuse the situation. He _definitely_ should do something to diffuse the situation.

“What’re you naming him?”

“Alpine,” Bucky says distractedly. “Do you think- is that-?”

“It’s nice,” Clint says. “Classy. Kinda badass.” _Like you_ , he adds silently.

“Guess so,” Bucky answers. “I’ve got to go to work, I wanted to- would you watch him until I get back? I can’t leave him at the motel unsupervised and I don’t want him to be wandering the streets.”

He’s been on the streets this long without a problem, but Clint gets it. Alpine is Bucky’s responsibility now, so it’s different. They took Louise to the vet after the first unplanned pregnancy and that isn’t an issue. It’s not like they don’t have the ability to lump in another cat on top of the four they’ve already got - and even if they didn’t, they’d probably still agree.

“You should stay for dinner after,” Steve blurts out, and then immediately smacks his hand onto his face. Clint, loving boyfriend that he is, snickers at him.

“Uh,” Bucky says. “Sure?”

“I’ve suddenly forgotten how to cook,” Steve says.

He’s been staring at the fridge for hours now. It’s a miracle he’d even managed to get that far, considering he’d been in a catatonic state ever since Bucky agreed to have dinner with them. Clint would find it absolutely hilarious if he wasn’t more or less in the same state. As it is, he’d managed to put on a nicer shirt and that’s as far as he’s gotten.

“You couldn't cook in the first place. Just order takeout,” Clint says.

“The only takeout place in this town is _our_ takeout place,” Steve replies. “Thor’s is closed, remember?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Did you buy anything microwaveable that we can use?”

“Why not just use stuff from downstairs? There’s a whole cafe of food, we can just put money into the till and pretend a customer bought it. I know you have a weird thing about it but it’d be worse if we tried to poison him with the crap in the freezer,” Clint reasons.

“Hm,” Steve says.

Then he jumps half a mile in the air and turns a terrified stare onto the staircase, which can only mean one thing. Clint’s kind of glad his hearing’s busted, if that’s the reaction he’s supposed to have. Instead he just panics a few seconds after, looks down at his shirt. No, this is terrible, he needs another one. Why would anyone under thirty want to date a man in a bowling shirt?

“Steve,” he says, panicked.

“ _Why_ did I think I could cook,” Steve says, head in his hands.

“Uh,” Bucky says as he opens the door, one of the kittens tucked in his zipped-up jacket. “Should I come back later?”

Steve seems to freeze then, but Clint’s more interested in the black tote bag being held in Bucky’s right hand. (Also, the kitten in Bucky’s jacket is fucking _adorable_. Clint’s glad that he gets to keep his little family of cats, but he’s also tempted to make Bucky hold onto Garbage for a few minutes longer.)

“No, no,” Clint says. “Come in, we’re just lamenting over your beauty. Where’d you find the trash cat?”

“Sleeping on a table,” Bucky answers, reaching with his free hand to pet at one of the cat’s ears. “You sanitize that shit, right?”

“Duh.” Clint approaches so he can help remove Garbage and set her down with her siblings in the tree they’ve got. “What’s in the bag?”

“Natasha said you’d forget about food, so she made me bring some,” Bucky says. “I told her it was ridiculous- you own a cafe, and you planned this like ten hours ago, but she insisted.”

If Clint didn’t already have one boyfriend and (hopefully) another lined up, he’d propose to Natasha. She’s the only functional one in their relationship and she isn’t even _in_ their relationship. Clint loves her more than he can say. Bucky sets the bag on the counter and Steve twitches, takes a step closer and then makes a face like he’s not sure.

“Well, now you’ve brought that, we may as well eat it, huh?” Clint tries to stay natural. Judging from the puzzled look on Bucky’s face, he isn’t succeeding.

“I thought Steve didn’t like the cats,” Bucky whispers.

“It’s all an act, Bucko,” Clint replies, just as quiet. “And they know it.”

The movie playing in the background is on the menu loop now, washing the room in a faint blue glow. Clint’s more interested in the unconscious Steve Rogers sitting in the corner of the couch, snoring quietly as all four cats pile on top of him silently. Alpine’s sticking to the back of the couch where Bucky’s sitting between Steve and Clint.

“Cute,” Bucky says vaguely, and then flinches, glances back at Clint worriedly. “I didn’t mean it like- I mean, I know he’s with _you_ and I ain’t-”

“What? I don’t- you’re allowed to- uh. Fuck. Did you know this was a date?”

“Did I know it was a _what?_ ”

They stare at each other, the panic clambering up from the base of Clint’s spine right up into his traitorous brain. That’s when Steve stirs, to his immediate relief, and sits up. The cats somehow remain attached to his sweater as he blinks at them and then over at the clock to see what time it is.

“What’s going on?”

Bucky whips around. “Is this a date?”

“Uh.” Steve looks at Clint. “Yes? If that’s- if you want it to be.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Both of you?”

“If you can handle that much sexy,” Clint says and immediately regrets it. Why is he like this? Bucky makes a little aborted snort though, so it must not be as bad as he thinks it is. Steve doesn’t laugh, but that’s Steve for you. He’ll smirk sometimes, but he doesn’t like letting people know that he enjoys terrible jokes and even worse flirting. Clint doesn’t know how Bucky feels about bad flirting.

“If I agree to a second date, can I leave the cat here during work?”

Interesting bargain, he has to admit.

Steve looks a little worried. “We’d look after him without you owing us _anything_ , Buck, it’s not like that-”

Bucky sighs, but there’s a smile creeping onto his face. “I _know_ , Rogers. Jeez. Just trying to make it less awkward. I’d agree to the second date anyway.”

Clint nearly falls off the couch. “Yeah?”

“If this is serious,” Bucky says, and then Clint’s treated to the view of Steve reaching forward to kiss him for the first time in twenty-ish years of pining. It’s like watching an off-kilter sort of romantic movie, especially with the way they’re staring at each other.

“It’s serious,” Steve says.

Clint’s smiling like an idiot. He’s honestly happy to just watch, and then there’s a fist in his shirt and he’s being yanked into a slightly awkward but no less appealing kiss himself.

“We’re starting a cat cafe,” he says when Bucky lets him go.

Steve laughs.


End file.
